


Breaking Free

by the-eagle-of-masyaf (Dunkelherz)



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Assassin's Creed Kink Meme, Caretaking, Complete, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Inmate, Kink Meme, Kissing, M/M, Mention of torture, Prison, Romance, Violence, Wounds, prisoner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dunkelherz/pseuds/the-eagle-of-masyaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malik's been captured by Templars. Confronted with his worst nightmare there's only one who can save him now but even the Great Eagle can't heal a man's broken soul... or can he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kink Meme.

Malik al-Sayf had never known his mother. When she died he'd been too young to understand, too young and innocent to fully grasp the meaning of why god took his mother and blessed him with a brother. His brother was everything he had left and when he grew older his father had told him that Kadar hold the same eyes his mother had had and how much he reminded him of her whenever he looked at the younger brother. Malik had tried to remember what she looked like but the few years they had hadn't been enough for him to picture her in his mind's eye. There was no memory, nothing which would keep her alive in his heart. There was only one big black shadow, a grey haze which separated him from the woman who gave him life. 

Most inmates cried for their mothers. Grown men, soldiers, beggars and freelancers cried like little boys and called out for their mommy when the merciless torturers of the Templars used their tools on them, ripping the flesh off their bodies, pulling out their nails and hammering nails through their joints. 

Malik didn't. As it was Malik never had had a mother. Why should he call out for her now?

A long time ago he maybe would have called for his brother. But Kadar was lost, dead, fallen in the war against the Templars when Altair's arrogance had betrayed them both. There was nobody Malik could cry for, no one who could offer him some comfort. There simply wasn't anybody left who would be able to rescue him now. Nobody who would have mercy with him. Why should they? He was a cripple and nothing but a burden even for the Brotherhood so Al Mualim had sent him to Jerusalem. 

Jerusalem. Malik almost scoffed. Al Mualim could have just as well executed him. One of the most dangerous cities, one of the most fiercely fought over cities of the holy land. No other city had seen so much sorrow, so much death and chaos as Jerusalem had. The grounds of no other city were covered with as much blood as Jerusalem's. Malik had known instantly what Al Mualim wanted to tell him as he had sent him as a Dai to the city. Malik hadn't done anything wrong and Al Mualim couldn't kill an innocent – but he could send him to a city which would kill him sooner or later. 

And as it looked like Al Mualim's plan had worked. 

Malik didn't know with whom he was more furious. Should he be angry at himself? Because he had let himself get captured and was stuck in this foul, rotten hole which called itself a prison, chained to a wall? Should he be angry at Altair? Altair, who not only had taken his brother and arm, but also his title as an assassin? But Altair wasn't the same man he'd been eighteen months ago now was he? Or should he be angry at Al Mualim, because he had sentenced him to death when he sent him here? No, no – maybe he should focus on the dirty Templar which had overpowered Malik and beaten him unconscious? Of course he had shown resistants and Malik had been very proud that of the half dozen of men he had wounded one and killed two before they could take after him. Of course that had caused more beatings in the end and his left eye was swollen shut, one tooth lose another missing and one of his ribs felt broken. 

He'd been here for three days now. They had given him water and he'd only drunk it reluctantly since he had seen how they had pissed into it. But he needed to drink or else he might risk to die of thirst. They wanted to break his will, they wanted to see him beg for his life but Malik wouldn't do them the favor. Never. They hadn't given him food. Of course not and his body was weakened now. The skin on his wrist was gone, the chain only left raw flesh behind. His shoulder hurt and his arm was numb because it had been kept chained above his head for too long now. He couldn't stand up, he couldn't lay down and his back hurt and the muscles in his legs spasmed every so often. 

 

He was alone with his thoughts, with his pain and the cries of other prisoners were a poor companion. 

He startled when he heard the rattling of a key as it was turned in the lock of the door leading to his cell and was opened. Malik thought the smell in his hole which his guards called a prison cell got only more bad as the warder stepped in front of the bars, grinning down on him.

They had no idea who he was. A cripple couldn't be an assassin, right? Malik would have almost grinned about the ignorance. They had asked him about the Dai which was currently leading Jerusalem's bureau. Of course they had found out about their secret location. That was the only explanation for them overpowering Malik in the first place. It was truly a shame. He had grown fond the bureau, the small rooms and old smell of papers and books. He would need to pack so many of them, so many cards he needed to stow away, he would need a donkey and a cart to move all of his belongings. Ugh, he hated moving but it couldn't be avoided now that the Templars knew where the assassins were hiding in Jerusalem. Yes, it truly was a shame and Malik didn't want to do all the extra work – assuming he would leave the prison alive. 

He didn't doubt it though. He was a cripple who was working for the Dai. The Dai who had shown mercy to a broken man like Malik and took him in because fate had been cruel with him. At least that's what the Templar had said, grinning mockingly at him as the words had left their mouths with a foul breath. What a bunch of fools they were, a group of bastards and the sons of whores. Their arrogance was as toxic as Altair's. 

He would probably spent a few days in prison. They would question him. They would torture him. But he wouldn't say anything and they would keep assuming in their arrogance that he was nothing but a helping hand (in the true sense of the word), worthless to them. They would let him go then, too lazy to get their hands dirty on him. 

Finally, Malik looked up at the man standing in front of his cell. He grinned down on him as he opened the door. “The commander wants to question you”, he laughed while he stepped closer to free Malik's hand. He spit at the warder and the spittle hit his chin. Malik grinned satisfied and it earned him a blow to his ear so for a few seconds all noise was swallowed by the ringing inside his head. Oh, it was worth it. A hand grabbed him underneath his arm and pulled him upwards and he moaned as his muscles and bones were protesting underneath the sudden movement. A kick to his rips was the answer to that. 

“You fucking lazy dog, get up”, the warder growled at and as he saw that Malik wasn't able to move faster, he pulled his arm further upwards and for a few seconds Malik honestly believed the man had dislocated his shoulder. 

“God you're smelling awful.” 

Malik clenched his teeth. Three days without bathing, three days in which he hadn't been able to move to relief himself. Of course he stank of sweat and piss. 

The hallway the guard was leading him through was long and they passed several cells. When Malik watched the crowded rooms, he was almost grateful that they had kept him for whatever reason isolated from all the other prisoners. There, where more than a dozen inmates had to share a tiny room, the smell was even worse and he almost threw up.  
The warder kept pushing him through another door. Two guards stood on the other side and the smell of shit, burnt flesh and blood overwhelmed Malik's senses all at once. They were here now and he couldn't deny the fact that he was nervous. He was always nervous in situation like these – it kept him alive. Being nervous meant that he was afraid. Being afraid meant you weren't dead yet and cherished your life. He took a look around the torture chamber. It was large and full of nooks and crannies. There was something like a front room in which they were standing right now. Several prisoners hung from the high ceiling, their hands chained together above their heads. He was certain that two of them were dead, at least when he judged them by their bad smell - the color of their skin only confirmed Malik's speculation. There was a stairs leading down to another room and more cells. Malik could see a man there, his skin hanging in stripes off his back while a torturer let the whip dance across his skin over and over again. Another stairs which lead upwards and Malik was pushed towards it. As he climbed the stairs he saw that the whipped man didn't even have the strength to scream anymore but as he looked closer he saw that no, he did have the strength to scream but simply couldn't since they had cut out his tongue.

 

As Malik reached the top he saw that they were alone here. The room looked more like an oversize balcony from which one had the perfect view over the torture chamber. Malik kept his gaze in front of him and he saw a man standing with his back towards him, framed by two more guards. That must be their commander and he gritted his teeth, preparing himself for whatever might come now. When they had walked across the room, a hit met the back of Malik's knees and he fell to the ground with a muffled groan. The commander stood so close now that Malik could see the many embroideries on his robes. No doubt that he hold a high rank within the Order. Sweat was running into his eyes and he had to blink a couple of times.

“Sir, that's him”, the warder behind Malik told him. “The cripple who works for the assassins.” 

“Ah, is he now?”, were the Templar's words and they were thick with a French accent. The commander's hand reached for his head and he pulled down the heavy iron hood and bald skin came into view. A knot built inside of Malik's stomach and contracted painfully as foreshadowing twisted his heart painfully. 

The Templar turned around and Malik hold his breath as all the blood left his face and he felt ice cold. 

No. Just, no. This couldn't be, not him! This wasn't fair! How could he do this to Malik? Hadn't he done enough already? Hadn't Malik suffer enough? 

“Just a cripple?”, the man asked again, amused, and arched one elegant eyebrow. “Is that so?”

He reached with his hand for Malik and he bit after him. Before he could catch a finger, the man pulled his arm back. He laughed quietly and made a small gesture with his hand. 

Malik's head was painfully pulled back as the warder buried his finger tightly in his hair to keep him in place. Again the Templar took a step forwards and closed his fingers around Malik's chin, turning his head to one side and then to the other as if he was nothing but an animal, ready to slaughter. His gaze fell on Malik's empty sleeve. 

“It's you indeed”, he finally said and his eyes narrowed while the corners of his mouth were pulled into a grim smile. “You've taken something which is rightfully mine”, he hissed and his fingers dug deeper into Malik's cheeks. 

“Sir?”, one of the guards behind him asked and the Templar straightened his back as he let go of Malik. He chuckled again and Malik felt as if he had to throw up. He could already taste the acid in his mouth and needed to swallow heavily to keep it all down. It was rarely that Malik felt helpless, but now, now he felt the agony of reality eating him alive and it the pain was maddening. 

“Do you lousy dogs even know who you brought me here?”, he asked and looked over his shoulder and at his two guards – their hands rested loosely on their swords, ready to draw them should Malik made one wrong move. He didn't even wait for their answer. “This is one true assassin”, he murmured quietly and run his thumb over Malik's face once his eyes had set back on him again. 

With the last of his strength Malik pulled his head free and glared at him, his teeth gritted so tightly that his jaw hurt. They probably wouldn't let him go now. Not now when they knew who he really was. They would torture him. They would take revenge on him and they would probably put scatter parts of his corpse all over Jerusalem for everybody to see as a warning, to make sure that all knew what would happen to those who dared to fight against the Templar.

 

The Templar snapped his fingers and one of the guards brought a chair for him to sit in front of Malik. Robert de Sablé leaned back in his seat and Malik kept still as his foul breath brushed across his face. “I think there are a few things we need to talk about, don't you think?” 

Reality sunk into him, its claws ripping at his soul, tearing it apart. He hadn't been prepared for this. He hadn't been prepared for Robert de Sablé. The murderer of his brother, the man who took his arm was sitting right in front of him and now, now Malik felt the need to cry as all of his nightmares became alive, all of his fears collapsing over him, drowning him, pulling him deeper into the dark abyss of his memories he had of Solomon's Temple.  



	2. Part 2

Malik was flying. His body weightless, his soul at ease and for a moment, he was free. He could feel the wind ripping at his clothes, he could hear the cry of an eagle as he rushed towards earth in a leap of faith. He relished the feeling and took a deep, calming breath. If it would only last forever...

Cold water hit his face and he came back to consciousness, his body heavy and a wave of pain rolling over him and leaving nothing behind but pure agony. The moments in which he lose consciousness were a blessing, a blessing they wouldn’t grant him for too long. He moaned as he blinked his eye open and felt something running over his face, hot and sticky. Blood. A face came into his view, blurred and misshaped. The grimace of a demon grinning down on him, fire burning behind the beast’s eyes and with teeth as sharp as the cool steel of a blade.

“Time to wake up”, the Templar said and Malik groaned some more as his foggy brain realized where he was and while he had thought all of it was just a nightmare, as soon as he was backhanded, his ears ringing, he knew that this wasn’t a dream but reality he woke up into. Fingers twisted into his hair, pulling his head upwards and his focus returned and he saw Robert’s face hovering inches in front of his. “Don’t you have enough already?”, he asked in a soothing voice but for Malik the words felt like acid burning through his flesh. Malik coughed, blood running over his split lips and he flexed the fingers of his one hand, curling them into a tight fist his nails digging into his palm.

“I have nothing to say to you”, he gasped as the world started spinning again, his head feeling far too dizzy as if he was able to talk but he managed anyway.

He’d been here for hours now, maybe days or weeks – he couldn’t tell anymore. But the two guards framing Robert were still the same and the warder stood a few feet away, watching all of it with curious eyes and a delightful grin dancing across his lips. Sadistic fucker. Malik’s body felt broken, crushed, his skin was on fire while his bones felt as cold as freshly fallen snow. He could tell that it was a fever spreading through his body as he desperately tried not to break, trying his best to keep his body from shutting down. Maybe he wouldn’t make it out alive. No, probably not. There’d be nobody send for his rescue – there were more important members of the Order, worth of risking other assassins lives but Malik wasn’t one of them. He was replaceable, a cripple. He could draw maps still, but he couldn’t climb anymore, couldn’t fight in missions anymore. He had his limits and an assassin with limits was sooner or later a dead assassin. It seemed for Malik it was sooner.

Robert run a blade across his naked chest. He had cut away his clothes a long time ago and he pressed the cold knife hard against his rips, blood falling from the steel and staining the ground underneath Malik’s feet. The first shock had already faded to a dull memory at the back of his head. It had faded as soon as the first wave of pain had hit him merciless. Now there was only pure, raw anger left in Malik. A spark which had become a fire, burning him alive. His will hard as iron to not give Robert the satisfaction to see him falling apart. No. The man had already taken everything which he hold dear. He wouldn’t let him have his dignity, not his pride. Those were the two things Malik wanted to keep as it was all he had left now.

Robert’s questions had been the same all the time. What were his Master’s plans, what his goal? But for Malik it felt like as if those questions were nothing but a farce as if he would already know the answers to them. And of course there was Robert’s longing for revenge, for humiliating him at Solomon’s Temple. After all, Malik had managed to escape back then, badly wounded and with the Apple in his possession. Robert was a man who wouldn’t tolerate such actions, that he made clear when he kept inflicting pain on Malik’s body. This was not all about the Apple, about the war between Templars and Assassins. This was personal and Robert made sure to not let Malik forget that fact.

“You will and you know it. It only takes some time for you to break, telling me everything.” Robert sighed and run a hand over his bald head. “You could make it so much easier for yourself. Just tell me what I want to know and your suffering will come to an end. I think it sounds like a fair deal, don’t you” He placed his hand next to Malik’s head, palm flat against the wall he was chained to, leaning closer still so he could smell cheap wine on the man’s breath.

Malik offered him an angry glare and kept silent. For a long moment Robert just kept staring at him, Malik’s labored breathing cutting through the silence, followed by the screams of fellow prisoners. Then the Templar withdraw and stood in front of the wounded man. “Very well then”, he said and beckoned to the warder. He stepped next to Malik’s side but as he reached for his wrist to loosen the chain, Robert stopped him with a small movement of his hand. He eyed Malik, smiling at him and Malik wanted to wipe it from his face forever.

“The one you’ve been with at the temple, more than a year ago”, he started slowly and Malik’s body went rigid, not liking the sound of his voice. It was too calm. “He was more reasonable than you.”

“He was a coward”, Malik spat as he remembered Altair’s face, the way he had looked at him as he stood in front of Al Mualim telling him about his failure before Malik could present the Apple. He immediately bit his lower lip – it wasn’t wise to show Robert such emotions and indeed, the Templar lifted one of his eyebrows, looking with mild surprise at the Dai. His lips hold the shape of a small ‘o’ before he revealed another one of his ugly grins.

“Really? He was?”, he pondered. Robert nodded and tabbed his chin twice as he went back to his memories. “Yes, maybe you could call him that. He screamed like a pig when I killed him.”

Malik felt like as if a fist had hit him in the stomach and he slumped in his bindings.

Kadar.

Robert haven’t been referring to Altair, but to Kadar.

The words hit a sore spot. He had tried not to think about it, to keep the memories away from his mind, to not let them consume him. Malik lowered his eyes. There was only so much he could take. Robert could torture him for days, weeks and he would gladly take the pain over the fact that he had failed so miserably at Solomon’s Temple. He’d been forced to leave his brother behind and if it weren’t for Kadar, fatally wounded and already at the brink of death, urging Malik to just go, he would have stayed with him and would have probably found his own death. Kadar’s eyes had haunted him for months and only a few weeks ago his nightmares had stopped in which Kadar blamed him for his death. Malik was certain that if he should survive, the dreams would return – probably worse than ever before.

“Oh, you two have been close, haven’t you?”, Robert whispered and the smile died on his face and was replaced by a mask made out of hate. “I heard the rumor that he was your brother”, he added. “Is that true?”

Malik didn’t answer. Of course not. Robert held no right to talk about Kadar like that and he would never speak about his brother in front of the man who’d killed him. He owned him that.

The back of Robert’s hand met his cheek, hard, and another bruise was forming. He could hardly feel the blows to his face anymore. It was swollen, probably purple and green and the right side of it felt already numb. It didn’t hinder his head to flung sideways, the force great enough to make him see stars. “Answer me”, was Robert’s demand and his words sounded muffled as if a cloth had been put over his mouth and Malik looked up. Robert’s lips were moving again but his voice grew quieter and quieter and even if he would have wanted, he couldn’t hear his voice anymore as the world became smaller and the edges of his view grew darker.

Somebody shook him forcefully, slapping him in the face to keep Malik awake and it hardly did the trick. Unconsciousness threatened to overpower Malik and he could barely stand. He would have collapsed a long time ago if it weren’t for the chain holding his arm.

“Answer me!”

It was loud enough for Malik to understand now and he smiled emotionless and shallow, revealing bloodied teeth. “Why don’t you just kill me?”, he murmured and his words were sluggish, refusing to talk about Kadar, to give an answer to his question. “I won’t tell you anything”, he said again, his head rolling aside as if his spine had turned into goo, “let’s just get over with this.”

“Oh, your death will come soon enough, assassin. But not today, not until I’m done with you”, Robert hissed, spittle flying from his lips and hitting Malik’s face. “You will beg for your death just like your brother did. He cried out for you. He screamed for his brother to return. Tell me, did you hate him that much that you would leave him behind with the enemy?”

Malik didn’t say anything, but lowered his eyes, looking down at Robert’s chest. Those were lies, nothing but filthy lies! Kadar might not have been as stubborn as Malik, but he hold his pride dear just as the older brother did. He doubted that Kadar was still alive when Robert got to him. When Malik left him… and damn, it hurt so much to think back to that moment when he had looked at his brother for the last time… but when he left him, he was already closer to death than to life. It must be lies. He refused to believe anything else.

Robert pat his cheek and the touch itself burnt Malik. “Get him away… I have a meeting I need to attend to”, he stated casually and pointed one gloved finger at Malik. “Don’t think that this is over. It isn’t. I promise it’s not over until you draw your last breath”, and with those last words, he spit into the Dai’s face.

The warder’s eyes came into Malik’s view as Robert walked away with his guards and he just couldn’t find the strength to scream something after him – besides, Malik wouldn’t do that anyway. Robert wasn’t worth it. He was as much worth as the dirt underneath Malik’s boots.

“You won’t make trouble, will you?”, the man asked and as he smiled he showed his rotten teeth. When the Dai didn’t answer, the warder nodded. “I thought so but… just to make sure…”

He saw his fist coming as if time was slowing down and he could tell he was hit, blood invading his mouth once more but he couldn’t feel it and when darkness finally came, Malik sighed softly with relief.

#########

It was night when Malik woke the next time. He could tell since his cell had a tiny window, big enough for him to push his head through but too high over the ground as if he could look outside. The moon was shinning though tonight and the dim light fell through the opening and left a small spot of silver on the dirty floor of his prison. They hadn’t chained him. Why should they? The man was in no condition to move anyway. Robert had made sure of that. His body was swimming in a lake of pure pain and he could drown in it so very easily.

His wrist was raw. His robes shredded into pieces. His trousers were soaked with his own blood and sweat and his boots were too heavy on his feet. He didn’t even have the strength anymore to lift his little finger and Malik groaned once he blinked his eye open. A headache was splitting his head into two or at least it felt like that. Robert had beaten him severely, had cut him in various places and had once stabbed him underneath his ribs where it would hurt but not kill him. His back hurt just as much, the rough stonewall had been unforgiving and left scratches and bruises across his shoulders and spine. But nothing, nothing of it could compare with the pain he felt inside.

Kadar…

It felt just like yesterday his brother had died. It felt just like yesterday that he left him behind. How could he ever do that? Malik curled his fingers into a tight fist as he laid in the middle of his cell in his own dirt. He couldn’t, he- … He just couldn’t. It pained Malik deeply that Robert had been able to make him falter. The Templar’s word shouldn’t have such a strong effect on him but who was he kidding? Kadar had been his family. It would take much more time for Malik to think about his brother without flinching in pain. Mostly because he wasn’t able to forgive himself, for leaving his brother there to die. It was maddening him to think that he had to die alone while he was riding back to Masyaf. It was the key which hold all of his pain together: he abandoned Kadar. He left him alone to die. Robert had made sure to lit the guilt inside of him once more.

Almost everything didn’t seem to matter anymore. He could die in here, so what? He probably deserved it after all… because for what he did to his brother, to the one person he loved the most. So what of the Order, what of himself? To hell with it, to hell with all of it. He would rotten in here, Malik knew that. It wasn’t as if anybody would miss him. It wasn’t as if anybody was waiting for him to come home. Al Mualim would have to find a new Dai, a new man who would be able to run Jerusalem’s bureau. He was replaceable after all.

Malik heard the noise of a door opening, feet being dragged over the floor and two guards stopped in front of the cell next to him, a slumped body between them, throwing the man inside and locking the door behind him. He barely paid it any attention.

Tears were burning behind his eyes but he wouldn’t let them fall. It had been years since the last time he cried and he wouldn’t do it now. Not here, not when he was a prisoner to the Templars. He wasn’t a boy anymore who didn’t understand the world, he was a grown man and yet he wanted to curl up into a tiny ball and weep.

It was too early. It was too early for him to deal with all of this shit when Kadar has been dead for not even two years now. It’d be always too early. His brother’s dead was something Malik would probably never be able to deal with.

Before he fell asleep because of exhaustion, his last thoughts went back to Solomon’s Temple and like Malik had foreseen, his nightmares were back, worse than ever before.

#########

“Malik…”

Why? Why couldn’t he get his peace? Malik was awake now and it was still dark and his sleep hadn’t been a blessing and he felt actually more exhausted than he had before. He’d been dreaming about Kadar, about his dead eyes staring up at him with blood running down his lips and throat. And now… now he was hearing somebody calling his name and he wasn’t even dreaming. Did he start hallucinating now? Maybe Robert had hit him harder than Malik would like to admit…

“Brother.” There it was again and Malik lifted his head this time. Was that… Kadar’s voice?

“I know you’re not dead Malik, now come on!”

No… no, it wasn’t Kadar’s voice.

Malik groaned, too tired to keep his head up, too worn out to move at all.

“Shut up”, he grumbled and his body might still be too broken for him to move, but his mind finally broke free from its stupor.

He’d dreamed about his brother and it reminded Malik of the time after he had returned to Masyaf, bedridden and with the doctors standing around him, not knowing what to do with his arm until they finally told him that they would have to take it in order to save his life. He hadn’t care about it back then but when his arm was gone, Malik had wished he would have died. When he had looked at his stump for the very first time he had also realized for the first time what he had lost. His brother, his arm, his title as an assassin… and somewhere in between the sorrow about the loss of his brother and arm, Altair’s name had pushed through. He’d also lost him. A friend from his childhood days, a brother, a fellow assassin. Gone. All of it had been gone. The only thing which had kept him alive back then was his iron will to seek revenge. Later though Malik had come to realization that he was physically not in the condition to get his revenge. He wasn’t able to face Robert like this. He was no fool. Malik didn’t actually believe that he could kill the man with only one arm. He was still a good fighter, no doubt about that. But he wouldn’t have a chance against the Templar.

“Would you prefer me leaving you here?” The voice sounded mocking and under great pain, Malik turned his head and looked towards the bars of his cell. He mouthed the word ‘What’ but no sound was able to move past his lips. There was a figure in the room next to him, hovering in the shadows, staring at him with bright amber eyes.

This – this must be clearly a product of his imagination and Malik slipped his eyes shut again. Just a moment of peace – that was all he really wanted. Nothing more. A nice moment of peace. But now he was starting to see things and Altair was one of the last persons he’d like to see right now.

“Go away”, he murmured. “You’re not real”, he added in a broken whisper because he knew he was lying to himself. Altair was probably the only person he’d like to see right now because Altair was the only person who could get him out of this mess. He wouldn’t trust anybody else with such a task. Such a long time had passed without Malik thinking of him. Why would he anyway? If he would walk back the chain of events, Malik was certain he would came to the conclusion that it was Altair’s fault anyway. After all, it had started with Solomon’s Temple, hadn’t it? Probably much more earlier too…

He could hear the rattling of steel and the loud squeak of a door being pushed open. Again, he cracked one eye open and he saw the shadow moving across the walls until it stopped in front of his door. The eyes were burning at him and reminded Malik once more of a demon. He was delusional, he knew that. A thin layer of sweat covered his skin and he was shaking with cold. A sharp inhale of breath came from the shadow and pierced the silence surrounding them. “Fuck, you’re a mess…”

“Leave me alone Altair”, Malik groaned again and managed to lift his hand to rub his temple. “I don’t need another ghost of my past haunting me.”

Another rattling and Malik’s cell door opened. His eye moved and he saw the shadow standing in the door. Since when could hallucinations move things? Malik didn’t care about his protesting body but pushed himself up on one arm as he rolled onto his side.

The shadow took a step forward and came to a stop underneath the silvery light of the moon shinning through the small window. “I’m not going away, Malik. Not without you”, Altair murmured quietly and knelt in front of him, his fingers running across his skin and shoulder. Malik hissed in pain and Altair did as well. “You look bad”, he said in a hushed voice so he wouldn’t draw attention. “Can you walk?”

Malik blinked with his eyes a couple of times and had a difficult time to form an answer. “I- no”, he tried to shook his head but in the end it hurt so much that he laid flat against the ground again. His world started spinning again.

Altair nudged his shoulder gently. “You have to get up, we don’t have much time. The guards won’t take forever changing shifts.”

Malik just laid still not moving at all but was focusing on breathing. He felt like throwing up and a second later, he actually did. He managed to roll on his side again just in time, his back facing Altair and his shoulders heaving heavily. “Go… you stupid novice”, Malik whispered hoarsely. “I’m in no condition to walk… you should have just leave me here instead of risking your life coming after me…”

“Shut up Malik”, and he did, maybe a bit surprised that Altair would chose to overhear his insult and everything else he just said.

“I get you out of here.”

Malik turned his head back at Altair, looking at him with his one healthy eye. He wanted to believe his words, he really did – but Altair didn’t know that Robert had put Malik in a much worse prison than the one he was currently held captive at. The worst prison was his own mind and Malik doubted Altair could get him out of there.


	3. Part 3

Malik wasn't able to ask the questions which burnt underneath his skin like hot stone. He would have to ask Altair later how he managed to get into the prison, how he managed to open the doors. But the most important question right now was how they were getting out of this without being noticed.

Right now, Malik was leaning heavily on Altair, one arm around the man's shoulders, one leg dragging behind him since it got twisted so badly as the warder had brought him back to his cell that it hurt too much to put weight on it now. His breath came labored and the blood was whooshing loudly inside his ears and made it sound like as if a waterfall was nearby. Altair lead him further into the prison and the air smelled even fouler here. The corridor was dark and only barely illuminated by a few torches. "Do you know what you're doing?", Malik asked him after a while and out of breath. Too many questions were spinning around in his head and melted together in one huge, confusing mess, too big for him to grasp the meaning of them yet.

Altair didn't answer but kept urging him forwards, his lips pressed tightly into a thin fine line. Malik couldn't see his eyes as they were hidden by the shadow of his cowl. He hadn't thought it would be Altair coming after him. He hadn't thought anybody would be coming after him. It felt wrong though and tasted bitter on his tongue – it felt like as if he'd failed again.

They reached the end of the corridor and Malik saw a gutter embedded in the wall in front of them. Altair glanced sideways at Malik before he pulled his arm gently from his shoulders and maneuvered him against one of the walls. He didn't have the strength to stand and slumped slowly down. He felt hot, far too hot for his own liking and his joints hurt badly. His fever was rising.

Altair crouched down in front of the gutter and turned around to eye Malik. "We won't have much time once I opened this. It's going to draw the attention of the guards." His words were hushed and hastily spoken and Malik realized that this was all Altair, the assassin, thinking tactical and only speaking when it was necessary. It actually calmed Malik – at least one of them was in control now. The whirling memories of Kadar's death, his own failure kept Malik's world in a state of chaos. Robert had rattled his cage and he didn't know how he could stop himself from falling. It felt good to have somebody at his side who didn't seem to be affected by his troubled mind.

He nodded at Altair to signale him that he understood. He watched how the younger man turned back, fumbling with the gutter's hinges, then he stood up and kicked against it. One time, two times, three times and finally, finally it broke and fell to the ground on the other side with a loud clatter.

"Quick, now", Altair hissed at him and pulled Malik to his feet. He groaned in pain, but they couldn't afford to go slow now. Altair shoved him through the opening and he stumbled through the small hole and found himself on the other side. Once Malik was through, something changed.

He could actually make it out alive – that thought hadn't crossed his mind for the last twelve hours now. If it hadn't been for Altair he would have never had the chance and even if the guards would catch up with them, Malik could actually put on a fight now – it would probably result in his death, but hell, he got a chance now. New strength blossomed inside of him like a rose in spring. It would kill him if the guards caught them but he'd rather die while fighting than being tortured to death by Robert. How Altair was able to put back the fighting spirit into Malik was something he had no answer for, but for now Malik had hope.

It was strange, odd really since he thought he didn't deserve such a thing – he'd had let Kadar down, Robert had painfully reminded him of that. But Altair... Altair had come for him. Why, he didn't know but he'd come and he was risking his life to get him free.

"Move", Altair told him, his hand pushing in between his shoulder blades and Malik stumbled forwards. They could hear angry shouts behind them only shortly after – the flickering light of torches illuminating the low corridor behind them told Malik that they were near and that they had to move faster. "Go Malik", Altair hissed, his hand at his sword, ready to pull it out and fight if it was necessary.

Malik didn't look back anymore. He limped forwards, further and further while his legs grew heavier and heavier and his breath burnt inside his lungs. "Over your head", he heard Altair's voice right next to his ear. "Stop", and Malik did, looking upwards. There was a small opening right above his head, a tiny tunnel, only wide enough for his body to fit in with a ladder inside of it. Altair grabbed him around his waist, hoisting him upwards and Malik took the first rung to pull himself up.

Altair followed suit and when Malik had managed to climb up half the way, he could hear the guards standing right underneath them, shouting, and an arrow hit the stone wall next to his side. Malik risked a glance over his shoulder and saw how Altair had stopped, a throwing knife in his hand and aiming for a man who had started to climb the ladder as well. He threw and hit, the guard screaming in agony and falling down on his following comrades and in the dim light, Malik could see the hilt of Altair's dagger sticking out of his eye socket. It brought them some time and Malik continued climbing, his breathing heavy while adrenaline shot through his body and provided him with new strength.

At last he reached the end, another small door blocking his way out. He pushed against it, gritting his teeth as pain shot down his arm but he managed and the small trapdoor gave away and opened.

Malik found himself in a small backstreet as he climbed out of the tunnel, making sure that Altair was still behind him. He rolled onto his back, gasping for air as the world didn't want to stop spinning.

"Get up novice", he heard Altair's voice coming from somewhere but the victorious feeling of being outside again robbed him of his strength and lulled Malik into a false sense of security. He couldn't keep his eyes open and thick clouds of fog caused his vision to blur. He blinked his eye, but it didn't get better it got only worse.

"Novice!", Altair barked above him and the trapdoor fell shut again and the assassin moved around to push a hay cart to block the exit.

Malik's heart was racing and sweat was running into his eye. He couldn't move as he felt paralyzed. He just couldn't. It was too much, his body too weak, his mind at the brink of falling apart, his heart and limbs heavy with sorrow and his voice gone. He shook his head – it was all he could manage at the moment.

Altair knelt to his side, one hand underneath his arm ready to pull him up.

"Well look at that." The voice was calm, sounding amused. Malik's blood run cold and he stopped breathing for a few seconds. He didn't have to open his eye to know who that voice belonged too. He could hear the sound of several feet running across cobblestone, the loud clattering of armor and swords being pulled free from their sheaths.

Altair let go of Malik's arm and turned towards Robert de Sablé.

Malik cracked his eye open and he watched how Altair's hand hovered above the hilt of his sword, shoulders tense. He stood in front of Malik's broken body, shielding him from Robert's view.

"It's no use assassin. You're surrounded", and Malik saw how Altair looked upwards, his eyes following archers who took their places on the roof above their heads. The younger man looked like a trapped animal, ready to take flight if it was needed – all he had to do now was to find a way for him and Malik to escape unharmed.

An arrow flew past Altair's ear and hit the ground to his feet. It barely missed him and Robert made a loud, angry sound, shouting in French. He lifted one arm, his hand closed to a fist.

"Hold back you fools! These men are mine", he snarled angrily and his gaze settled back onto Altair and Malik as if they were his cattle to slaughter. It reminded Malik of when Altair had been thrown through the wall in Solomon's Temple and he and Kadar had faced the Templars by themselves. It was just as hopelessness now as it had been back then. There was no way for the both of them to escape.

"Altair...", Malik murmured, pushing himself a bit up with a low groan. "You stupid novice, go. It was foolish to come for my rescue, it's even more foolish to stay and wanting to fight", he said quietly with gritted teeth.

"Hush now", was all which Altair replied, not bothering to even look at Malik. "We're in this together, we fight together. Up to your feet", he ordered and for a split second anger rushed through Malik's body like a tsunami. He was Altair's superior, he held no right to give him such orders! But then it clicked inside his head and he forced his limbs to move, pushing himself off the ground only to come to a stand next to Altair, weak on his legs.

"Would you look at that", Robert said with a wide smile on his face, his arms spread to either side of his body in a welcoming gesture. "I came to mourn over a friend and what do I find? His murderer and the man who robbed me of my treasure." His eyes narrowed and his lips were set into a grim smile. "I let you escape once, I won't let you escape twice."

Altair held his arm in front of Malik as the Dai made an attempt to rush forwards – the Dai's high fever was clouding his mind, forcing him to make the bad decisions. Altair kept him back, pushing him behind his body as he walked slowly backwards, pulling his sword free and holding it in front of his body. "Today's not the day for us to shed our blood, Templar", he heard Altair's voice and it sounded like as it had back at Solomon's Temple. Altair kept moving backwards, forcing Malik to walk backwards as well until they were close to a nearby wall, a hand pulley block right next to him.

Malik looked across Altair's shoulder. There were at least a dozen Templars standing behind Robert and as he glanced upwards he counted four archers on the roofs, aiming with their arrows at them.

"Malik", he heard Altair whisper and he focused back on the man standing in front of him, "you have to trust me on this", he murmured, his lips barely moving.

"No, it's not!", Robert shouted and draw Malik's focus back onto him. "It'll be your blood to stain the streets!", and with his last words, he made a gesture with his hand and six of his guards were rushing forwards, ready to take Altair and Malik in.

"Now", Altair said and Malik felt an arm wrap around his waist as Altair turned around, kicking at the lever for the hand pulley block. As soon as he did, Altair's hand took a held of the rope, pulling Malik with him as they were hoisted upwards. It all went so fast that it left Malik dizzy and for a moment he thought the world had turned upside down. Colors were rushing in wild chaos, the wind ripping at his clothes, but at last he found himself standing on his two feet on the roof, high above Robert's guards and the Templar himself.

Before he could say anything, Altair pushed him to the ground and he fell hard on his back, the impart knocking the air out of his lungs. Arrows were raining from the sky and he saw Altair seeking shelter behind a roof-garden, pulling his crossbow from his back and aiming for the enemy. It only took him four shots, four perfect shots who took out the archers on the neighbor roof. He could hear curses in French coming from the street underneath him and Robert, screaming at his men to go after them.

Altair fell to the ground next to him and rolled towards Malik, looking at him with calm eyes. "A leap of faith, brother", he said and Malik didn't have the time to answer him, confusion washing over his face as Altair reached for his arm, pulling him and dragging him to the other side of the roof.

"Altair, wh-", but whatever it was Malik was about to say, it was lost as soon as Altair pushed him over the edge and he fell down and into the street below them. He landed in a haystack and since he hadn't been able to control his fall, he was rolling rather clumsily out of it and came to a halt on his back, looking up the high building to find Altair standing at the edge. The moon was standing in his back, making him look like nothing but a figure of a shadow. He spread his arms to each side and jumped. Malik thought he could hear the cry of an eagle nearby but the thought vanished as soon as Altair's body hit the hay as well. The man rolled out of it with more elegance than Malik had managed, hay falling from his body like a waterfall.

"We need to go", he said and hoisted Malik back on his feet.

It was the moment Malik broke free from his stupor, blinking his eye once before he leaned on Altair to stumble with him through the empty street. "We can't go to the bureau, they know the location", he said through a hiss of pain.

"I know", Altair said as they walked quickly around a corner and came face to face with a market – perfect. The many stalls and people would give them the opportunity to blend in with the crowd. Out of the corner of his eye Malik saw how Altair quickly stole a large piece of fabric from one of the merchants, black, and shoving it into Malik's hand. "Put this on", he said and Malik wrapped it around his shoulders and head, covering his face and dirty clothes within the process. "There are two dead Templars laying in your bureau. I killed them when I came looking for you", Altair murmured and Malik said nothing to it. After all, he didn't get the chance to warn his fellow brothers when he had been captured.

"I think we lost them", Altair murmured when they couldn't hear any more angry shouts in French behind them but only the loud and busy murmur of the shoppers around them. Even though it was late in the night, Jerusalem never slept and its citizens were up and awake. "We need to go somewhere else", he added and guided Malik through the streets. They had to stop every now and then and Malik leaned heavily against walls to catch his breath before they could continue their way. Altair lead him into the poor district, near the city's walls. They hardly met people or other guards in that part of the city and he allowed himself to take a deep breath of relief.

"Don't expect me to thank you", Malik spat angrily once they stumbled into a small empty stable and Altair helped him to lay back against the ground. Malik kept himself up, using his remaining elbow to do so. "I didn't ask for you to come for me, I could have handled the situation myself."

Altair didn't look up as his fingers flew over Malik's body, removing the shredded pieces of his robes and peeling the blood-soaked fabric off of him.

"You stupid novice! Is your arrogance so big that you think you could fight against an entire army of Templars?"

"Is your pride so big that you refuse to admit that you would have died there if it haven't been for me?"

No. Of course not. Malik knew that. He hadn't accept to die there but he had faced the possibility very well.

He hissed when Altair pulled away the last of his clothing only to reveal a rather large gash on his chest. There was no doubt that it would leave an ugly scar once it was stitched up. They didn't have the tools to do so here though – it would have to wait, Malik would live. None of his injuries was fatal but hurt like a bitch.

"You could have gone after Robert", Malik said quietly as Altair worked on his body, refusing to answer his question.

"Robert de Sablé wasn't my priority."

It left Malik speechless for a few long moments, moments which seemed to never end.

"You were", Altair added and Malik closed his eye, falling back against the straw his chest heaving as he breathed through the pain inside his heart.

"Why?", he finally asked, his voice thin and barely above a whisper and Altair poured water from one of his bags over a piece of cloth and dragged it across his chest, washing away grime and dried blood. Some of the cuts started to bleed again as the cool water hit Malik's skin.

"Because you're a member of the Brotherhood."

Oh.

For a moment, Malik liked to believe Altair saving him held a different reason. He didn't know what reason that should be but for a moment he wished... he just wished that for once, it'd be because he was important, to Altair. Not to the order.

"I can be replaced", he said and swallowed thickly, shifting his weight and it felt like as if he was sinking deeper into the small bedding made of straw. Malik wouldn't mind if it swallowed him and he would never the see the light of the world again.

"Not to me."

Only then did Malik open his eye and he looked at Altair and saw how the younger man was looking down on his hands which had stilled, the cloth dangling from between his fingers as if he had forgotten about it.

"What is this?", Malik asked slowly and he felt himself growing irritated.

Altair sighed heavily. "I've been a fool, Malik", he murmured quietly, his head hanging low between his shoulders, the hood keeping his eyes in a shadow.

"Normally, I would make no argument, but what is this? What are you talking about?"

"All this time, I never told I was sorry..."

Malik grew quiet, his breaths shallow.

"... too damn proud. You lost your arm because of me, lost Kadar."

Malik's heart was aching, tears threatening to break free from his eyes. Couldn't he just shut up? After all he's been through those last couple of hours, he wasn't ready yet to have a conversation like this. Kadar... god, the guilt was eating him alive. Altair couldn't just talk about him like that, couldn't just act like as if it was his fault alone that Malik's brother had died.

"I do not accept your apology", he managed to say at last, his voice hoarse.

Altair's shoulders slumped down. "I understand", he said, his voice as distant as Malik knew it, as it always had been.

"No you don't", he quickly added and his fingers wrapped around Altair's wrist to keep him from getting up. For a moment, Altair's eyes flashed up from behind the shadow, an amber gaze setting on Malik's face – if only for a split second, then it was gone just as quickly. "I do not accept your apology, because you are not the same man that went with me into Solomon's Temple. So you have nothing to apologize for."

It was only true wasn't it? If Altair would have wanted, he could have had Robert's head today. But he refused, deciding that the life of a fellow brother held more importance than the Templar himself. Eighteen months ago Altair would have made a different decision, not caring the least about Malik.

"Malik", he whispered his name and the Dai thought he'd never heard somebody speaking his name like that before. Altair's voice was raw, full of emotions. He never thought he would ever see the day for that to happen.

"Perhaps... if had I not been so envious of you, I would not have gotten so careless myself. I am just as much to blame." He couldn't forgive himself for what he did at Solomon's Temple, leaving Kadar behind – but he could forgive Altair because it was easier to show some kindness to somebody else than to himself.

"Don't say such things." Altair looked up at him now, the hood falling back and revealing his bright eyes.

Malik's hand twitched but in the end he couldn't bring himself to reach out for the other man. Such things, such intimacy like the touch of another human being, was something he forbid himself. Instead he shook his head. "There were times where I wanted to see you dead and on some days I thought I would burn alive with my hate for you." Malik looked off into empty space. "Huh", he scoffed, "I think it was what kept me alive during those first days after they took my arm", and as he looked up he thought he saw Altair flinching – but it was too dark in the small stable for him to be sure. It was probably only his imagination. "But then I realized that your death wouldn't make it better", and now his voice sounded thin and broken. "It wouldn't bring Kadar back to life or give me my arm." He tried to smile. Truth was, his hate had been everything which kept him alive – and after a few months he had feared he would lose his will to live if it was gone and Malik had realized that hate couldn't be the answer, that his desire for vengeance was focused on the wrong issue.

"We are one, Altair. As we share the glory of victory, so too should we share the pain of defeat." He swallowed hard. "In this way we grow closer, we grow stronger", he finally said and it left Malik empty as truth tasted bitter.

Altair started moving again, dragging the cloth further over his chest, careful with the various cuts there. He brought the piece of fabric to Malik's left shoulder and he tensed. He glanced up at Altair and his face betrayed nothing when he washed down what was left of his arm.

"How did you know what happened to me?", he pondered quietly and Altair turned away and took one of the small bags he was carrying on his back. He pulled out white, fresh linen to bandage Malik's wounds.

"A beggar", he said simply and when Malik arched one eyebrow in question Altair sighed and continued: "He was getting beat up by guards, I helped him." And Malik's eyebrow only rose higher because that didn't sound like Altair at all – the man really did change, didn't he? "He told me he saw something odd happening the other day. Guards beating up a man, taking him with them."

"That's nothing out of the ordinary happening in Jerusalem", Malik commented dryly and Altair gave him a stern look. "Alright, I shut up now. Tell your story", Malik said and made a small waving motion with his hand.

"He thought it was odd because he kept hearing them saying the word 'assassin'. He doesn't understand French but he could hear the word very clearly and he told me that he thought that there must have been a mistake because-" Altair bit down on his lip and returned to unfolding the bandages, placing them next to Malik's body.

"Because?", Malik urged him to keep talking.

The look in Altair's eyes had grown hard and distant and he avoided to meet Malik's burning gaze.

"Altair!", Malik said after his patience was ready to tear like a thin thread.

"Because he thought that a cripple couldn't be an assassin."

It was quiet for a few couple of breaths and Altair's shoulders looked tense as he started to wrap the first bandage around Malik's chest and he let the man do his work without showing any resistance.

"I knew it was you", Altair added after a while, his voice thin and weak, so much softer now and full of regret. "I disguised myself as a beggar and let them capture me. I stole the keys from one of the guards and replaced them with a replica I made. That's all."

"What about your mission? Robert de Sablé is in the city. He knows now that you're here. He will double his guards at the funeral, you won't get a chance to get to him." Malik sounded angry but he felt as if he would shatter any moment now, his soul ready to break apart and to fall into million pieces. Altair would be the death of him.

"He would have known I'm here anyway", Altair said calmly and took his time to tend to Malik's wounds.

"Why?"

There was the hint of a smile spreading over Altair's lips, empty and sad. "He has his spies everywhere, doesn't he?"

"Your mission is going to fail and for what? Because of your stupid stubbornness. Haven't you learned anything? You compromised the Brotherhood by coming after me!" New anger was blossoming in Malik's chest because he could accept anger better than he could accept the kindness Altair showed towards him. He wasn't ready to face the truth yet.

"The way I see it I would have compromised it if I hadn't come for you..." Altair tilted his head to one side and sat back on his heels, his hands resting calmly on his thighs and now that it was out in the open, there was no way for Malik to not see the truth.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Why kept Altair doing this to him? He'd done enough already and he just couldn't... he was in no condition to deal with all of these things, all of these raw emotions tearing at his soul, collapsing like a wave over him, carrying him away and leaving nothing but his vulnerability behind.

"Why?", he whispered again in the end, squeezing his eyes shut tightly and covering his face with his one hand. He felt Altair's fingers brushing across his own, wrapping around his wrist to pull his hand away. He let him.

"I've already told you", Altair murmured, his fingers entwining around Malik's. Malik opened his eyes, looking up at Altair and he was so close, too close, his breath caressing his face and it felt a bit intimidating. " _You're my priority._ "

"What?", Malik mouthed the word because it was already too late, Altair had closed the gap between them, leaning forwards and kissing him. It felt weird, the man's lips moving in small waves across his own and Malik barely opened his lips and before anything more could happen, Altair had already withdrawn. Malik looked dumbfounded at him, Altair's gaze hard and unforgiving, almost angry, the kindness he'd seen only seconds ago gone.

"Forgive me", he said with a pressed voice. "I had no right", and he made to turn away to get up, but Malik grabbed his arm and forced him to stay.

"Don't", he said, his voice as quiet as a whisper. "You've come for _me_?", and he said it as if that thought had never crossed his mind even though Altair had already tried to tell him so many times. Altair had come for _him_ – not for the Dai who had been captured, not for the Brother who got abducted by Templars. He'd come for Malik. It felt so very odd, so very out of place for Altair to do such a thing. In all honesty, it sounded out of place for _anybody_ to do.

Altair barely nodded but in the dim light of the moon falling through a small window he caught the small movement of his head.

"You've come for me", Malik repeated the words as if he didn't believe them. His eyes flickered across Altair's face and with his cowl down he was able to see everything of it. Malik's fingers curled into Altair's collar and with his last strength pulled him towards him.

He was acting insecure at first, slowly leaning forwards and licking over his lips. His breath brushed over Altair's face and the man's eyes were burning into his, making it feel like as if he was looking right into Malik's soul. But in the managed he gathered enough courage to kiss him and this time he was prepared, his lips moving over Altair's and parting for his tongue to enter. It was gentle, rather innocent but it was enough to leave Malik breathless. The world had slowed down and it were only Altair and him who existed at the moment. All he could feel was Altair, all he could breath was Altair, all he could taste was Altair. The man consumed everything of Malik like a storm of fire and he feared that once they would part that nothing was left of him anymore. He sighed softly into Altair's mouth and the man shifted closer, one shaky arm wrapping around his waist to pull him against his body and Malik groaned as his hand pushed down on a bruise on his back.

It broke the spell and Altair pulled back, his eyes slightly widened they roamed over Malik's body. "I didn't mean to-"

"You didn't hurt me", Malik said quickly, his hand coming up to cup the side of Altair's face, his thumb trailing over the scar on his lips and Altair leaned into the soft touch.

"No, Robert did", he breathed slowly out and his fingers buried themselves into Malik's short hair above his neck. Altair leaned into him again, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Rest now. You need it", he murmured gently against his skin and Malik looked up at him, seeing the reflection of himself in Altair's bright eyes. He leaned back to lay down and his heart was beating steadily and calm inside his chest, his fever still strong and his wounds still hurting but his mind was at ease.

Malik followed Altair's movements as he bandaged the last of his wounds, his skin tingling from where his fingers touched him and Malik slipped his eye shut again, breathing slowly in and out as his body screamed for the sleep he needed.

Altair came to him. It was still quite difficult to believe that since Malik couldn't understand what the other man saw in him. He would have to ask him, maybe in the morning. But it felt good and comforting and... and if it was possible for Altair to forgive Malik for leaving his brother behind, maybe Malik could forgive himself. Lover was stronger than hate, he realized that now and maybe it hadn't been hate keeping him alive but... love.

Altair brushed his thumb across Malik's cheekbone and swollen eye. "Safety and peace Malik", he murmured as he watched how the man's breathing got deeper and that it wouldn't take much longer for sleep to come for him.

"Your... presence delivers me both", Malik said softly and he truly meant it as for the first time since his brother's death and Solomon's Temple his soul was at peace.

* * *

**Fin**


End file.
